


i don't wanna ever have to let you go

by Anonymous



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abuse, F/M, Incest, Manipulation, Rick is not a good guy, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27369799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Morty had been more of an irritating piece of shit than usual lately. She’d skipped the last three adventures with weak excuses, making sure to give them in front of his parents so they'd convince Rick to cut her some slack. Rick’s hand is getting fucking tired of snipping.Or: Drunk Rick is tired of Morty ignoring him.
Relationships: Morticia (Pocket Mortys)/Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Comments: 1
Kudos: 67
Collections: Anonymous





	i don't wanna ever have to let you go

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd. sorry for any mistakes lol.

The house is quiet. Beth and her idiot had taken a couples’ night together, Summer was probably getting high off her ass on some dumbass earth acid, and his Morty was asleep. 

“Not for long,” Rick mumbles to himself, more to hear something than anything else. Without the whir and buzz of his machinery, or the heated arguments from the others in the house, it was a little too quiet for his liking. He strolls to Morty’s room, humming and whistling through the dark halls of the house. Jesus, how much did he drink? He can't remember. Not important. What  _ is _ important is that he get his dick into his annoying grandkid.

Morty had been more of an irritating piece of shit than usual lately. She’d skipped the last three adventures with weak excuses, making sure to give them in front of his parents so they'd convince Rick to cut her some slack. Rick’s hand is getting fucking tired of snipping. To add insult to injury, he had walked in on the girl jacking it and moaning Jessica’s name, of all fucking people-- the sheer nerve of that shit, when Rick had taken precious time out of his schedule to sear himself into Morty’s cerebellum, to grind his own god damn name and more into the marrow of her bones. Morty should fucking know by now that any name that wasn't his had no business falling out of her lips like that.

Rick throws open the door, alcohol spilling on his lab coat (When had he taken out his flask? He takes a swig). He tries to flip on the light, misses, and all but collapses in the vague direction of Morty’s bed. He rights himself almost immediately, one hand slammed into the plush mattress and the other searching for his Morty.

“Gran-Grandpa Rick?” Her slow, sleepy stutter that Rick would normally hear on nights like this had been entirely replaced with one of fear, the syllables coming faster than the poor girl could think them, make sense of them. He cuts off her stammering with a kiss, deep and with entirely more tongue than necessary (the way he knows she hates). He grips Morty’s hair in tight fists, holding her in place, making sure she can't squirm away. He hears her try to say his name through the kiss, revels in the fact that  _ he _ controls when Morty speaks. 

“Babe, my fuckin’ baby, my sweetheart.” Rick presses his hand against her panties, and big fuckin’ surprise, she seems to be wet already. Not like all of it was his doing, she was probably masturbating before she fell asleep. Morty weakly tries to push him away, her shaking, small fingers cradling the back of Rick’s palm, too afraid to really try. The dumbass, if she doesn’t want it she should just say so, she should put some real effort in. She’s too fucking easy, too fucking soft and pliable and fragile. Anybody else could take her so easily, could ruin her, take her apart, leave her pieces strewn around, but Rick wouldn't let them. He’d never let anyone else touch his Morty.

He must have said that last part out loud because Morty’s incessant shoving stills for a moment. Until it doesn't, and she’s whispering something, the words pitched high and shaky like she’s trying to force them through her teeth. Rick spins Morty around, the girl’s back pressed into his chest, places his hands on those pale white thighs and slowly starts spreading them.

“Use your words, baby,” Rick says into her hair.

Morty doesn't crane to look at him. "Rick, please, not tonight..."

Rick stops.  _ What? _

"Why."

"I mean-- I mean, I don't--I don't want to, that's reason enough, Rick!"

"Okay. And?" Rick says flatly. He sees beads of sweat begin to pool on Morty’s forehead, feels the tell-tale breathing that signals a hysteria-fueled panic attack. Fucker should be panicking for trying to tell Rick what to do.

"A-And? What do you mean, and?"

"Morty, y-you insufferable piece of, piece of shit, do you really think it matters to me whether you--" Rick releases his grip on Morty's thighs to form air quotes, "--'want to' or not?"

Rick didn't think it was possible, but the little color that was left on Morty's face drained away. "W-What?"

Morty yelps as Rick roughly pushes her into the mattress, pressing her face into the pillow. God, that shit is  _ satisfying,  _ the sound going straight to his dick. 

“Shh, quiet babe, be quiet,” he says, though it doesn't really matter because he soundproofed her room a million years ago, but she doesn't need to know that. He parts her hair to reveal the moon-bright white of her neck, goosebumps marring the otherwise smooth skin. He trails his fingers down her shirt, feeling the bumps of her spinal cord, imagines pulling them apart, twisting her spinal nerves around his finger just because he can. Her dorsal and ventral roots built just for him, every function of her body keeping her alive just so he can use her. Under him Morty is whimpering, probably trying to stifle the sound of her muffled crying, just for Rick. He groans and turns her over, the mental image too much to bear.

“Rick,” she says, and he knows she omits the familial word because she can't admit to herself that she loves it, loves being used by her mother’s father, and he almost laughs. She’s so fucked up. Who could possibly want her after this? Of course, this suits Rick just fine, he thinks, as he pulls off her panties and toys with her clit, because she doesn't need anybody else. “R-Rick!” she moans, and immediately clamps a hand over her mouth. God, she's so fucking cute.

“Morty, you’re gonna have to do, you’re gonna have to try harder than that.” He’s so drunk the words blur together, but he knows she can understand him, she’s been around him long enough. “You’re so wet for me, you dirty fucking slut, you're dis-- it’s fucking disgusting, you know that, baby?” Rick loves his Morty, every inch of her, which means he loves it when she cries and weeps, fat tears rolling down her soft, chubby cheeks like he knew they would; Rick knows every cell on her body like the layout of his lab, like old high school formulas, like sought-after equations he’d never give up. He wipes her face. Good old Morty, he thinks and thinks he says but he can't be sure.

“My little-- my little buddy.” Rick clumsily (he’s drunk, can't be helped) pokes at her pussy, trying to find the entrance without any tact. “Sorry, buddy,” he murmurs, and if he were just a little more sober maybe he would've caught the way she stiffens and looks up at him, surprised by the rare apology. But he only feels her grab his hand again and guide it (“...Willingly, baby, you want this more than you let on.”) inside. She sniffs and shudders, probably in pleasure, though it doesn't really matter to him if it's pain, as he scissors her open. She can't control her sweet voice, thick like honey from crying and she’s pouring it directly in his ears where it soaks into his brain and he swears to a God that doesn't exist that he’ll never get tired of it. He pumps his fingers into her, Morty’s voice getting higher and higher as she gets closer to orgasm. Nasty freak, she’s always been sensitive and he knows the taboo nature of their relationship gets her off even more, no matter what she says. 

When she comes, he leans in close and kisses her, muffling her moans again. “My Morty, my Morty,” Rick mumbles over and over again, pulling out his fingers and cupping her face. He struggles with his belt, hearing her say words but unable to make out what they are above the clinking of metal and the zipper. “It’s not that they’re- that it's loud, it’s just discrackting. Discrackting. Dis--” Rick tells her, tries to sort out the word in his mouth, pulling out his dick and lining it up-- “Dis. Tract. Ting.” 

He pushes in on the last syllable and groans at the hot, tight wetness. Fuck, he’ll never get tired of this. She’s a vice around him, gripping his cock better than any custom made machine he could make. Son of a bitch, she really was made for him. He tells her as much, grabbing fistfuls of hair and pulling, just to feel as much of her as possible. He thrusts inside her, every motion punctuated by moans and yelps from Morty. He can't help it, he can’t control himself, her body is just too good and too much; he finds his hips moving on their own, doesn't try to slow down or stop. Hey, if she doesn't want it (which he can't believe), the faster he finishes the better, right? 

Rick watches Morty’s eyes as he fucks, wet and screwed shut. He knows at this point she’s basically a spectator, knows she’s probably attempting to dissociate and pretend she’s anywhere but here. Normally he’d force her back into reality by talking to her or using physical force, but Rick decides he’s fine with her zoning out this once. Hell, the kid earned it by letting him take her like this. Plus it’s not like she’d be able to help him out anyway. And there’s gonna be plenty more fucks where he can remind her who she belongs to. 

Fuck. Even as he’s pounding her tight pussy he can barely believe that she’s Rick’s Morty; a jewel in the sand, a diamond in the rough. Out of infinite grandkids he got lucky enough to find one like her, dumb and sweet and willing to please him enough to do anything. Untouched by worldly horrors, except for maybe porn sites. But that’s okay, he could work with that. And he did, and he does, and he loves the feeling of owning her and fuck he’s close. He decides to finish inside her, and  _ Jesus Christ that’s so fucking good _ \--his mind whites out as waves of pleasure run over him, tendrils of shame and guilt and pleasure grabbing at his ankles before he shakes them off and collapses next to her.

“Fuck, Morty, I love you, you fucking--you’re such a good girl, my good girl, my best girl...” He allows himself to ramble, hoping he’ll trail off and forget this in the morning. He slips into unconsciousness quickly, misses the shudder of revulsion, the hiccuping sobs, the limbs curling in on themselves, as the universe collapses in on itself, until all that’s left is a foreign warmth around a cold body.


End file.
